


A Firm Hand

by jouissant



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-15
Updated: 2010-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 23:10:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jouissant/pseuds/jouissant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock knows how to take care of Jim. Any Jim, in any universe, apparently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Firm Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Themes/Notes- originally a series of kink meme fills, this took on a life of its own.

**ONE**  
It was just a hint. Just a little flash in the middle of the vast information dump that was the meld on Delta Vega. With everything that happened after that, Jim almost forgot it. It would have been understandable. It's weirder that he remembers, Jim thinks. That after everything that happened, the revelation of what that other Spock was to another Jim Kirk, what he remembers clear as day is this: that _other_ Kirk over Spock's knee. But the weirdest thing isn't that he remembers.

The weirdest thing is that it's all he thinks about.

He's still in his old room at the Academy. The _Enterprise_ is getting the last few bells and whistles put on, everything that the Narada incident pre-empted. Classes are done, his mom isn't going to make it to graduation, so all that's left to do is wait. It's making it hard to sleep. Jim's used to activity- collapsing into bed and passing out after days of being run ragged. But now he has nothing to do, and too much to think about, and he can't sleep. And try as he might to think of other things, alone in his bed at night- the gorgeous ass on that pretty cadet in the dining hall, Chekov's lips (which, yikes, Kirk, bad, sewenteen), the way Gaila made those little noises when she came…he keeps coming back to it. And it's driving him fucking crazy.

He knows the older Vulcan is at 'Fleet headquarters. He's meeting with the surviving Vulcan High Council and Starfleet high-ups to discuss an appropriate location for the new Vulcan settlement. So as crazy as it is to pursue this, he feels even crazier, and he has to know what the fuck _that_ was. His hands shake as he types out the message. He can't check his mail for two days after he hits send. But curiousity finally gets the better of him, and when it does there's the response, blinking in his inbox, agreeing to dinner tonight at eight.

Jim suggests Italian. Spock says he doesn't like Italian food, and then gives Jim an inscrutable, misty-eyed look, so they go to a little vegetarian place Jim knows. He orders a beer, and is surprised when Spock follows suit. "I do not feel the effects of alcohol, but I admit to something of an acquired taste. I particularly enjoy microbrews."

The walk back to campus after dinner is quiet. It's a pleasant evening. When they reach Jim's dormitory tower, he asks Spock in for a nightcap and is half-hoping he'll decline, but of course he doesn't.

Jim presses a cold bottle into the older man's hand, and sits down heavily beside him on the couch. He clears his throat. Fuck, this is embarrassing. But he has to know.

"I asked you to dinner tonight because I had a question."

Spock nods encouragingly. "About something you saw in the meld."

"Uh…yes. I got pretty much everything. I know what he meant to you- the other me, that is. I get all that. But there's one thing I saw, and I don't understand it, and I can't stop thinking about it."   
"Please, Jim. Go on. You may ask me anything."

"I saw…there was this scene. With the other me. You guys were…you were…spanking him." Oh god oh god oh god did he actually say that out loud?

Spock actually chuckles at this. Great, thinks Jim. Just great. But when the older Vulcan looks at him, his expression is warm.

"Jim, 'Starship Captain' is a particularly difficult job. You have had but a small taste of it as yet, but trust me, it does not get any easier. You are in constant danger, under constant stress. You are responsible for the lives of hundreds of people. You must maintain a state of the utmost control at all times. The job requires it. Does this make sense?"

Jim nods.

"Your counterpart initially had a difficult time dealing with such great responsibility. He once told me, after a particularly traumatic mission on which we lost several crewmembers, that he wished that he could relinquish control for just a short time. He expressed a…longing for the simplicity of childhood, when an adult could take charge of any situation. After a series of conversations, we concluded that it might be possible for me to provide the means by which he could give up control. We found that certain activities helped induce a…childlike headspace. That, I believe, is what you saw.

It appears you have been greatly disturbed by this vision from my past. For that, I am sorry. I would have taken more care to shield it from you, but as you know, the circumstances of our meld were less than ideal. Also…I suppose I myself did not realize how much those moments we shared meant to me. Eventually, they became quite integral to my relationship with my Jim Kirk."

Jim is struck dumb. He's not sure what he expected Spock's explanation to be. Maybe a joke, a moment of experimentation. But it makes sense- why would one incident, one moment in the course of a lifetime, make it into a meld when Spock was trying so hard to communicate things of grave importance?

"Jim?" Spock is looking at him expectantly.

"Yeah. Um, thank you. For explaining."

"Does this explanation trouble you?"

"No. I mean…I haven't been in many command situations, aside from the obvious. I understand how that could wear on you. How you might need…some kind of release."

Spock laughs again. The sound sends a strange curl of warmth through Jim's belly.  
"Indeed. Your counterpart often sought that release with me." He looks up at Jim again, dark eyes holding him like a tractor beam.

"How did you feel, Jim? Knowing the entire crew of the Enterprise, the entire population of Earth, was in your hands?"

Jim gulps. "I…I was scared. I mean, I did what I had to do. But part of me…part of me was really, really scared."

"Yes. And how would you have felt if you knew someone could take that fear away? Even if only for a short time?"

"Um. Good, I guess. Comforted."

"Then we understand each other." Spock reaches out to Jim, grasping the hand that holds his beer bottle. He prises it from Jim and places it on the coffee table.

"Are you…scared now, Jim?"

Jim draws a shaky breath. When he speaks, it's in a whisper. "W-What do you mean?"

"You are about to start your first five-year mission as captain of the Enterprise. Anyone in your position would be entitled to some measure of anxiety."

"I…" He should get up. He should get up right now and ask Spock to leave. But he can't. He's rooted to his seat. Because, fuck. He is scared, and he's also incredibly turned on. "Yes. Yes, I am."

Spock moves his hand up Jim's arm to clasp his shoulder. From there, he cards long fingers through Jim's hair. Jim closes his eyes and relaxes into the touch.

"Shhh. Yes. Close your eyes." Every touch sends little sparks of pleasure down Jim's spine. It's been a long time since anyone touched him. Or since he touched himself. The low voice continues. "If you would like me to stop, you need only tell me. Do you understand?" Jim nods. "Good."

"Stand up and come with me. Keep your eyes closed." Jim complies. His apartment isn't that big, so he's pretty sure he knows where they're going. Sure enough, he walks into something big and soft. "Sit." He sits. He feels the dip of the mattress as Spock sits next to him. "Lie back, and lift your hips. Yes, just like that. Good boy." Spock's fingers are deft, and they make short work of his fly. He gasps as his pants are stripped off without ceremony. "Now, come here. Lie across my lap." Strong arms grip his shoulders and pull him into position. Jim can feel silky robes beneath his thighs. A warm hand dips into his briefs and caresses his ass, and Jim lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Suddenly, the hand disappears, only to meet his tender skin again with a firm _whack_.

"You have been quite remiss, Jim. You have limited time here on Earth before your mission begins. It is illogical to spend it fixating on a private moment between two men you barely know."

That is not strictly true, but Jim has no time to refute Spock. Blows are raining down on his ass, each one seeming to raise the temperature in the room by at least ten degrees. Every time Spock's hand smacks down on his flesh, the blow seems to send a jolt straight to his dick. Jim is getting painfully hard in spite of himself, and with his body pressed flush against Spock's thighs he knows there's no way the other man hasn't noticed. He hears another low rumble of laughter from above him, and fuck, that goes straight to his cock too.

"You are very responsive. He was the same way. You are both beautiful in your submission, red-faced and gasping."

"Fuck," Jim moans. "Fuck, please…"

"No," Spock replies firmly. "You wished to experience a loss of control, and you will." The blows come faster and faster now, each one driving Jim's cock harder and harder against Spock's thigh, trapped between the rough cotton of his briefs and the liquid silk of the other man's robes.

Jim's eyes are screwed shut now. He feels a strange loss of perspective, as if he could be anywhere. He suddenly feels very small, a satellite in a great void. He's crying out, almost mewling, but that voice tethers him, draws him back down to Earth. "Yes, Jim, yes. So good. It's all right, you can take it, you have taken much worse."

Jim can't take it; everything is so tight and hot and he wants to crawl out of his own skin. Only the looming figure he can sense above him can help, can make it go away. He is as certain of this as he has ever been of anything. "Fuck, please. Please…daddy…" and shit, why did it feel so _right_ to say that? "I need…I need.."

"Shh, Jim. Yes. I know what you need." He suddenly feels himself pulled into a sitting position. He gasps as long, sure fingers grip his aching cock, moving just right. He can't help but curl against the other man's chest, head tucked beneath his chin. Hot tears leak from beneath his lids, and his face flushes with shame. "Oh, oh…please, please don't stop."

"I will not stop."

His strokes are long and steady, and abruptly it's too much, it's too hot in the tiny room, and Jim is coming in hot spurts all over Spock's hand, burying his face in his shoulder. He is blushing al the way to the tips of his ears. His dick is probably blushing. Spock presses a rough kiss to Jim's forehead, and his hands are on his face, brushing away Jim's tears. "There," he says, voice low. You are all right now. You have been into the   
darkness and come out the other side."   
Jim suddenly feels very tired. He tries to stifle a yawn. "You should sleep now," says Spock."You have a great deal to attend to before you launch. And you seem in need of a good night's rest."

Jim does not protest as the Vulcan pulls down the sheets and gestures for him to climb inside. Jim does, suddenly aware of how empty the bed feels with just him in it. The strange sense of smallness has not fully resolved itself. He blushes again. "I…I'd like it if you stayed. Will you stay?"

*~*~*~*  
The long fingers brush through Jim's hair again, but this time each stroke brings him closer and closer to sleep. He is curled around Spock in the darkness. They are quiet; it seems they have little need for conversation now. He is almost gone. His limbs feel exquisitely heavy. Off in the distance he hears a deep voice murmuring as if to itself. "I see I shall have to share this common…predilection…with my counterpart. Five years is, after all, a long time. "

 

**TWO**

 

Being the youngest Starfleet captain in history is, frankly, pretty rough.  
It's definitely _awesome_, thinks Jim, but there are days when he feels run ragged and it's all he can do to pull his boots off before collapsing into bed. It's a steep learning curve, but he's getting it. The hardest thing is the responsibility. Jim's been taking responsibility for himself since the first time his mother went off-planet, but managing a ship of over 400 people and making sure they don't die is a little different than packing his own lunch and dragging himself out to the bus stop on time.

The third time he loses someone (Ensign Torres; an accident down in Engineering) he slams into his quarters and throws his communicator against the wall. It hits with a very satisfying crunch, sliding down to rest at the foot of his bed in a mangled pile of metal.   
"I have noticed that your requests for replacement communicators closely correlate to incidents of injury or death among the crew. It is illogical to persist in destroying valuable equipment in an attempt to assuage misplaced feelings of guilt." Spock is sitting at Jim's desk. Again. He's already set up the chessboard.

Jim's shoulders slump, and he bends to retrieve the remains of the communicator. "Can you use _my_ override code on my own lock? How do you even know my override code?'

"That is neither here nor there. Now, I believe I am owed a rematch."

*~*~*~*

Spock is there the night Torres died, and he just keeps coming. Some nights they play chess, game after game, until Jim can barely keep his eyes open and it's all he can do to see Spock off before crawling into bed and into blessed unconsciousness. Other times, they talk, of the minutiae of life on the ship, old stories from the Academy, everything and nothing.

The next time they lose someone, it's after a mission on an uncharted M-class planet in Sector 7 where everything went to shit. Jim is up late debriefing 'Fleet Command, then composing and filming a holo to send to Howell's parents, and when he finally drags himself into his quarters it's past 0100 hours. He's still wired, full of restless energy, and there's nowhere for it to go, and Spock is there again. He is sitting at Jim's desk, hands neatly folded on his lap. He has not set up the chessboard.

Instead, there is a red uniform neatly folded on the bed. Jim realizes with a start that it's a female-issue uniform. More specifically, a skirt.

"Spock? What-" He stops when he sees the look on Spock's face. He looks…almost dangerous, but not quite. Jim thinks it's more that he looks like he could handle anything right now. He is completely, unquestionably in control. His gaze holds Jim like a tractor beam.

"Jim," Spock says, his voice low. Something in his tone goes straight to Jim's cock. Somehow, bizarrely, it does not seem wildly inappropriate. "I believe you have had quite enough responsibility for one day. This evening, I will dictate your actions. Is this acceptable?" Jim nods, dumbly. "Good. If at any time you wish to end this association, you need only say. Please select a word to alert me to your desire to stop."

_Did Spock just ask me for my safeword?_ Jim says the first thing that pops into his head. "Uh. Marshmallow?" Before things went to hell on the planet, there was a campfire. Jim made Spock eat a s'more. Spock's eyes betray the barest hint of amusement at Jim's choice, but it's short-lived.

"Please remove your boots and your trousers, and replace them with the Starfleet uniform on the bed. Leave your briefs on."

Jim steps out of his boots and strips down to his black uniform-issue briefs. He realizes that, in all likelihood, Spock is wearing the same pair. He gasps as the cool recycled air hits his skin, raising gooseflesh all along his thighs. He's already half-hard, and he's willing to bet the tight black cotton isn't doing a great job of concealing that fact.

He picks up the deep blood-red skirt and slides it up over his hips, buttoning it at his waist. It's _short_, the hem hitting mid-thigh. He glances up at Spock, and fuck, one look at the Vulcan's face and his cock fills in earnest. Spock is still sitting at attention in Jim's desk chair, hands resting on his thighs, but his gaze is trained on Jim, eyes raking over his body from head to toe. Jim feels incredibly exposed; he may as well be naked under Spock's scrutiny. Spock raises a hand and beckons to Jim. "Come."

Jim steps forward. Spock continues to crook his index finger in a come-hither gesture, so Jim moves forward until he's close enough to Spock that his first officer can reach out and touch him. And touch him Spock does- he reaches out to cup Jim's erection through his briefs, assessing it as if it's a promising specimen on some uncharted planet. Spock bites his lower lip. When he speaks, he seems for a moment to be testing his role. "Ah…this is…excellent, Jim. You appear to be extremely responsive, and I have yet to employ direct stimuli." He squeezes gently, and Jim rewards him with a gasp. If Spock were human, Jim would have sworn he heard him chuckle. He rises slowly, maintaining his proximity to Jim. They are standing eye to eye, and Spock reaches out his hand to capture Jim's. Jim leans in to kiss him, but Spock moves away with a quiet, "No. Not now. Now, you will come with me." Spock leads him to the bed, where he sits stiffly, patting the mattress next to him. "Come. You will lie across my lap. You will face down, and you will keep your hands quite clear of me and of your body, or I shall be forced to restrain them. Is that understood?"

Jim nods. His mouth is dry; his tongue feels like it's packed in cotton. He doubts he could speak if he tried. He follows Spock's instructions, painfully aware that the short uniform skirt has hitched up over his ass and his cock is pressed torturously against Spock's thighs. He crosses his arms under his head, gripping the mattress slightly. There's the kiss of air on his skin, and he can practically feel Spock's gaze on him, assessing.

"Jim, I must inform you that your emotions have been regrettably obvious tonight. You are clearly experiencing difficulty maintaining control." He speaks these words easily, and Jim wonders vaguely if Spock has found himself the recipient of such a lecture before. "Your position implies an array of attendant responsibilities. While you continue to perform admirably in the face of much adversity, I find this continued lack of emotional control to be deleterious to your authority. It is unacceptable."

Inexplicably, Jim feels tears spring to his eyes. Something in Spock's tone- it's the Vulcan version of "I'm not mad, I'm _disappointed_." He makes a small sound of protest. "Shhh," Spock says. "Do not speak." Suddenly, Jim feels Spock's hand on his upper thighs. His touch ghosts over the thin cotton of Jim's underwear to find the waistband, and he slides a finger under the elastic there and pulls down. Jim instinctively raises his hips a bit to allow the fabric to shimmy down, exposing his ass but regrettably trapping his erection in a cocoon of fabric. He makes a frustrated noise. Again he hears that not-laugh from above him. Then several things happen at once. A hand- _Spock's hand, holy fuck, it's Spock's hand_ thinks Jim hysterically- collides with his bare ass. Jim's body jerks forward with the force of the blow, dragging his cock roughly across Spock's lap with a delicious friction.

A strangled cry escapes Jim's mouth. "I asked you not to speak," Spock chides in a carefully measured tone. It's such a bizarre contrast to the ridiculousness of the situation that Jim almost laughs, but that's before Spock takes his breath away with another blow to Jim's delicate skin. And another, and another- each whack of the Vulcan's open palm sends stinging heat radiating across Jim's ass, straight to his cock. Again and again and again, and there's no time for it to dissipate before another blow rains down. All Jim can feel is that heat: the burn on his skin and his cock, the hot shame that rises at the thought of how he must look. He's prone, sprawled across his First Officer's lap, ass in the air, taking spanking after spanking like…like…

_Like a child_, thinks Jim. He suddenly feels very small, and he never knew his father but with his eyes closed he might be five, six, seven years old and over his father's knee. And he's been bad, very bad, but it's all right, his daddy loves him, and it's for his own good, really. He needs this like bitter medicine. Jim sobs, and now hot tears escape, and he's pitching forward over and over, grinding his hips and twisting them just right with every blow from his daddy's hand. They are rock-solid, and as Jim gets closer he knows they won't stop, not until he gets what he deserves, what he needs. A voice from somewhere far away talks to him low and steady, _Yes_ and _So good, Jim,_ and it's suddenly too much. He's coming in hot pulses all over himself, all over his daddy's trousers, and he hopes he won't be angry because Jim can't help it, he can't.   
"I…I'm sorry," he gasps, and he feels long fingers in his hair, on his forehead. "Shh," says the voice. "It is all right. You are all right, now."

Jim is so tired. His head feels heavy, and he's so warm, and all he wants is to sleep. "Yes," says the voice, and his daddy is so good to him, because strong arms are lifting him, cradling him against a uniform-clad chest, and then Jim's head is laid to rest against the cool fabric of his pillow. He feels sheets and blankets tucked neatly around his chin, and then that hand is on his face again, so hot, wiping at the tracks of Jim's tears. Jim feels the brush of lips on his forehead. "Sleep," the voice tells him. "Sleep." Jim obeys.

 

**THREE**

 

Jim flops into his seat in the mess hall, sloshing coffee all over the surface of the table.

"Disease and death wrapped in darkness and silence, huh, Bones?" Jim says.

Across from him, Bones gives him a look. He gestures at the spreading puddle of coffee. "I'd tell you to watch what you're doing if I didn't know you were so tired you can barely see straight," he replies. He shakes his head slowly, cracking a slightly incredulous smile. Jim knows that smile. It's the "I can't believe it's been two years and we're both still alive" smile. He's been getting it a lot lately.

"So, you've got the last of the infected discharged?"

"Finally. Chapel's finishing up the paperwork right now. She locked me out of my own damn sickbay, you know that? Told me not to come back 'til I'd eaten something and got at least five hours of sleep."

"Smart woman. You're hell on wheels when you're sleep deprived. Oh, wait…"

"Yeah, yeah, poor choice of profession for someone who gets cranky without his beauty rest. Ha freaking ha. I got that one all through med school."

Jim sighs, crossing his arms on the table and resting his cheek against them. "Fuuuuuuck, Bones. I want to pass out for a day. No, two days. And then I want to wake up and go on shore leave somewhere with a beach."

"Regrettably, Captain, Alpha shift starts in seven minutes, forty-five seconds," says a third voice.

"Ugh, I'm dreaming, aren't I? And you're my alarm clock," Jim groans. "My very logical alarm clock."

"Alarm clocks are not sentient, Jim. Thus, they possess no capacity for logic. And no, you are not asleep. You have not slept in…"

Jim sits up with great difficulty. "Please, Spock, spare me. It's easier if I don't think about how I'm so sleep-deprived I've barely got two brain cells to rub together." He rises from the table, stretching towards the ceiling with arms akimbo. He's vaguely aware of Spock's eyes on the pale skin exposed between his shirt and waistband.

"Ok, Spock. Looks like duty calls. Later, Bones. Get some rest, huh?" Seeing as Bones looks like he's about to pitch face-first into his scrambled eggs, Jim doesn't think sleep will present a problem. He is more than a little jealous, although he wouldn't have said the same 72 hours ago, when Bones was up to his elbows in various bodily fluids trying to get a handle on the epidemic.

He follows Spock out into the corridor, and as they walk toward the turbolift, Spock extends his index and middle fingers in a subtle yet intimate gesture of greeting. Jim meets Spock's outstretched fingers with his own, holding on for a moment before dropping his hand back down to his side. "I'm tired," he says as the turbolift doors close after them. He is aware of the faint whine that creeps into his voice. "I want to take you to bed and sleep for days. And do other things. But mostly sleep."

Spock moves in front of him, snaking his arms around Jim's waist, and leans forward so that his forehead rests against Jim's. "Soon," he whispers.

Jim whimpers. Even exhausted as he is, having Spock in such close proximity is guaranteed to elicit a response. "Please…" Jim isn't sure what he's asking for. As usual, though, Spock seems to know.

"Yes," he says, his voice almost a growl. "You will return to your quarters following your shift. You will wash, and perform any necessary ablutions. You will then report to my quarters at 2000 hours."

Jim gasps. "Spock…" But the turbolift chimes, announcing their arrival at the bridge. Spock steps back, brushing Jim's hand with his a final time as the doors open and the harsh white light of the bridge floods in.

*~*~*~*

Jim can say one thing for exhaustion- it makes time pass in a kind of haze, so he's not really cognizant of whether it's ship's morning or afternoon or any closer at all to 0800 hours. Things are slow; Starfleet has delayed their next mission to give the ship time for damage control following the outbreak of a particularly nasty strain of the Tellarite Flu. Almost half the crew was laid up in sickbay or confined to quarters for the better part of ten days.

What would have been inconvenient when affecting ten or twenty or even thirty people was a full-scale crisis when patients numbered in the hundreds, and now Medical was running seriously low on basic supplies. When their marching orders came, they'd be heading out via Starbase 35. Chekov was still out with the flu, so Jim has Lieutenant Marquez plot a course and sits back in his chair to take a look at the requisition lists his yeoman has waiting for him.

It's late afternoon, ship's time, before he knows it. After checking his chrono for the third time (the numbers have a nasty habit of swimming together today) he looks up at Spock's station to see that his First Officer has left the bridge already. Fascinating, thinks Jim. Oh well- he'll be seeing plenty of Spock later, he hopes. He gets up and stretches again. The crack and pop of his spine is oddly satisfying. He's hungry, and he can practically hear Spock in his head asking if Jim's blood sugar is sufficiently high to engage in his preferred activities, so he opts to swing by the mess before going to his quarters to follow Spock's instructions.   
He's surprised by a little jolt of nervousness as he arrives at Spock's door. (It's 0757; Spock appreciates punctuality, and Jim appreciates Spock.) It's been…shit, how long has it been? Eighteen months of nights like this, nights he's shown up at Spock's door. Jubilant, terrified, bone tired, angry, frustrated- he's been at this door in so many states. The one constant is Spock- Jim has always had complete faith that no matter his condition when he walks through this door, Spock will see to it that he's himself again when he walks out.

Why he should be nervous, then, is not immediately clear. Then, the door opens, Spock pulls him inside, and suddenly it's absolutely crystal.

There's a new vidscreen on the wall directly opposite Spock's bed. It's huge, and state of the art, and Jim never took Spock for the kind of guy to get a boner for technology, but…oh. _Oh_. There's a comm channel open, and there's someone on the other end.

"Good evening, Jim." Spock's older counterpart fills the screen.

Jim gulps. "H-hello, sir."

"It has come to my attention that you have lately been under a great deal of stress. My younger counterpart has taken the liberty of enlisting my…expertise in assuaging this problem."

Next to him, Jim's Spock replies, "He has been quite remiss in caring for himself over the past ten days. He is completely exhausted." There is a faint scolding tone to his voice, and it brings a flush of color to Jim's cheeks. It wasn't his _fault_, after all. But he knows better than to defend himself now.

Spock wears a long, billowing black silk robe, belted and tied at the waist. Judging from the pale V below his throat, the patch of course black hair visible there, he's not wearing anything else.

"It seems our charge finds himself in need of discipline yet again," says the voice from the vidscreen, and now Jim can't help but think back to that night in his dorm two years ago, that solid, steady voice, taking him to the edge and then over… he shudders. This provokes a laugh from the older man.

"Ah. It would seem that he understands the consequences of his actions," the older Spock says. He addresses his younger counterpart. "You are aware of his response to corporal punishment."

Jim's Spock nods. "He is most demonstrative," he says.

"Excellent. He has not changed, then. Very well, you may begin. Jim, I believe you should begin by undressing."

As Jim obeys, Spock walks across the room in two strides, seating himself on the edge of the bed and sitting up poker-straight. He pats his lap. "Jim."

Now completely naked, Jim positions himself across Spock's lap. His blush deepens as he does so; after all these months, assuming this particular position results in something of a Pavlovian response. He's shameless, he knows it. Spock tells him as much. And now with the older Spock watching from the vidscreen…Jim buries his face in Spock's silk-clad thigh. The Vulcan cards his fingers reassuringly through Jim's hair.

"Shh, Jim. We are both here because we derive great pleasure from watching you like this. The further you unravel, the more we enjoy it."

Jim moans in response.

"Duration?" Spock asks the vidscreen.

"Hmmm. Perhaps that should be at your discretion," comes the answer. "I would suggest starting with twenty and observing the relevant effects. Have him count."

Jim shudders. Spock is _strong_, and he always manages to find the thin line between just enough and too much and stay there until Jim can't take it any more.

"Very well, then. Twenty, to start. Jim, you will count."

Fuck. Spock does this when he wants to keep Jim present, centered. Jim would rather lose himself in sensation, forget he's being watched, imagine it's just the two of them. Apparently neither Spock intends for that to happen.

Thwack. Spock's palm collides with the tender skin of Jim's ass. "O-one," he counts shakily.

"Louder, so our guest can hear you."

"One!"

"Better."

They continue like this, each blow causing Jim's cock to rub torturously against Spock's silky robe. He's painfully hard now, cock weeping, and he thinks hysterically that Spock will need to have his robe professionally cleaned. After twenty blows, the two Spocks seem to conclude that he needs more. Jim isn't entirely sure they aren't just indulging themselves. He can hear low murmurs of approval and dark laughter, and with his eyes closed the two voices twine around him like ribbons, pushing him closer and closer.

Presently, he feels Spock's free hand dip between his cheeks, fingers warm and slick, coated with lube.

"You will remain still," Spock says, in a tone that brooks no argument.

Seemingly in time with each blow, Spock slowly begins to fuck Jim with his fingers. It's torturous. He wants more than anything to fuck himself back onto Spock's fingers, to rock forward and give his cock some of the friction it's screaming for. But he doesn't. It takes every fiber of his control, but he stays put. Five more spankings, ten more. Tears of frustration leak out of his eyes and down his cheeks; he wants to move so badly, needs it so badly…

"Good, Jim," Spock says, his voice rough with pride and something else.

"His control is much improved," says Spock's counterpart. "You have both done well."

…Jim needs _that_ even more.

The praise seems to trip something inside Spock, for he abruptly stops the hail of spankings and withdraws his fingers carefully. He hauls Jim up bodily so he's sitting upright in Spock's lap. Jim can hear Spock working his own dick, slathering it with lube, and then he's lifted up and moved into position. Slowly, carefully, Spock lowers Jim inch by inch, holding him steady with superior Vulcan strength until his cock is fully sheathed balls-deep in Jim's ass.

Jim can't help but cry out at this. He suddenly feels full to bursting, and gasps out a breath. It's almost too much, but Spock wraps an arm around him and pulls him closer so their bodies are flush. With his free hand, he takes a hold of Jim's aching cock, distracting him from the discomfort. Jim's toes curl.

"Yes," says Spock. "Look at him," he addresses his counterpart. "He is beautiful like this, is he not?"

"Yes," says the older Spock in a low growl.

"His control is much improved," Spock says, parroting his counterpart's earlier declaration. "But watch as I undo it completely. Jim, no hands."

Jim presses his palms flat against his bare thighs, fighting the urge to milk his own cock.

And Spock begins to move. It's torturously slow, and Jim wonders that he thought this was an improvement over the spankings. Spock holds Jim down so hard that he can barely move, completely preventing Jim from posting on his cock the way Spock must know he wants to. They fuck this way often when they aren't playing, after all. Spock grabs Jim by the hair and pulls his head back to lick and suck at his lover's throat. He kisses his way up to claim Jim's mouth. Jim moans into the kiss as Spock moves his hips in a lazy circle, hands studiously avoiding Jim's cock.

"Mmm," moans Jim as their lips part. "Spock, please, I need…"

"What is it that you need, Jim? Let me hear you."

Jim is suddenly very aware of the second pair of eyes trained on him from the vidscreen. He turns as much as he can and speaks into Spock's chest.

"You are being quite rude, Jim. We have a guest. Please repeat yourself so that he may here you."

"Please, Spock. I need you to fuck me."

"I believe I am doing just that."

"You _know what I mean_," Jim whines.

"I regret that I do not." Spock's voice is teasing. Fuck, he's going to make Jim beg for it with the other Spock _right fucking there_, and Jim doesn't care because he needs it. He needs…

"Please, I need you to fuck me harder. I need you to _move_.

Spock gives a dry little bark of a laugh, and Jim thinks that he's never heard Spock laugh without his cock up Jim's ass.

"Ah. I see." He lifts Jim's body up ever so slightly, giving his cock some leeway. He pumps his hips up and into Jim, working Jim's cock for good measure.

"Does…ah…does this meet your specifications?"

"Yes, yes…just…more, please!"

Spock complies. Jim can feel Spock's eyes on him from the screen, hot and searching, and he fucks himself back on Spock's dick over and over, and he's so close, and all at once he realizes Spock has stopped touching his cock.

"Spock, Spock, please…"

"What, Jim?" Spock feigns ignorance.

"Please, my cock, I need…daddy, please, I need you to touch me. Please?" and Jim knows he's whining now, knows he's flat-out begging for it, which is just what Spock wanted in the first place. He's almost sobbing, working himself up and down in Spock's lap, crying _please please please_ in a litany of need.

He can feel hot breath at his ear. "You are most pleasing when you beg for me like this," Spock says, holding him close. "However, you are even more so when you come." He wraps his free hand around Jim's cock, fisting it once, twice. _Fuck_, Jim feels like he's going to explode…

"Yes, yes," Spock's voice is so low Jim can barely be certain he's actually speaking.   
"Come for me, ah…_baby_. Come for me." If Jim wasn't so far gone he might be amused at the way Spock stumbles over the endearment, at the incongruity of such a word coming out of his stoic Vulcan mouth, but as it is Spock is pumping his dick with a hot, slick hand and mouthing his throat and fuck, he's never called Jim _baby_ before, and probably never will again, and….

Jim comes, gasping. Behind him, Spock bites down at the juncture of Jim's neck and shoulder and digs his fingers into Jim's hips as he comes.

Coming back to himself, Jim looks up, remembering Spock's counterpart. The vidscreen has gone black, the transmission cut off, and it's just the two of them now.

*~*~*~*

Later, they lie in bed, Jim's legs draped haphazardly over Spock's, hands entwined. "Do you think it upset him? Seeing us like that?" he asks the darkness quietly.

"On the contrary," Spock replies. "I believe he finds it reassuring that in both universes, you have been in good hands."

"Mmmm. S'true."

"Go to sleep, Jim."

 

**END**


End file.
